


As We Kiss (The World Stops Breathing)

by ThatMerlinFangirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst/Comfort, Canon Era, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatMerlinFangirl/pseuds/ThatMerlinFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were never supposed by be together. Merlin knew that. But that fact alone couldn't destroy his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As We Kiss (The World Stops Breathing)

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings fellow Merlin fans. This is my first time posting to the archive so I apologise if I've made an error with the tags :( Thank you for taking the time to click on this, I really appreciate it.

Camelot is beautiful in the late afternoon sun. Her walls gleam tall and proud, wreathed in lush foliage, set against a fairytale blue sky without so much as a single cloud tainting it.

Merlin takes a moment to just look at his home and smile.

Then he returns his attention to the canvas balanced on his lap, taking one of the smaller, finer brushes and carefully daubing small specks of green on the eye. It's always difficult to get the colour just right. His back aches and the sun blazes down without mercy but it's nearly finished.

Painting in the meadow is a treat he doesn't often get - normally he's restricted to working in his room, burning stolen candles into the wee hour of the morning. He pays a price with constant fatigue and yawns plaguing him but it's the only thing that truly allows him to be free and he wouldn't sacrifice that for anything. 

The subject of his work varies. Sometimes it's friends: Arthur sat grand and noble on his throne, Gaius reading one of his infinite supply of books. Sometimes it's people he's lost: Freya smiling up from her bed of flowers in the lake. Or just the magic he witnesses in the world. 

But more often than not, it's Mordred. 

Merlin knows that they will never be together and they never can, but that fact alone won't destroy his feelings for the druid.

So to let those feelings out, he paints them onto canvases: Mordred, flush and pink, wielding a sword; Mordred, his face half-shadowed in firelight; Mordred, sleeping on a forest floor; Mordred, lost in thought; Mordred laughing, his whole face glowing, eyes lit up like stars.

These are memories that Merlin clings to, storing them away in the depths of his heart, for they are precious things that it would be a crime to lose.

The druid is the subject of his latest work. He is stood at the foot of a tree, his eyes closed and his magic erupting around him in beautiful nothings.

Merlin is ashamed to say that he followed him to the woods last night, where he witnessed this.

"That's good."

Merlin starts. Mordred is stood only a few feet away. How long has he been watching?

"Thank you." he replies tersely.

"You're a skilled painter." Mordred comes over and takes a seat next to him. "I've not seen work this good in years."

"It's just practise." Merlin mutters.

"Indeed."

Silence falls over them. Merlin continues his work, aware every second of his beating heart and the eyes that watch his every move.

"What do you want Mordred?" he asks eventually.

"Do you paint me often?"

The evasion both frustrates and entices him. "Sometimes."

"Why?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"And you have not answered mine."

It's stalemate between them. Merlin gently sets the now completed canvas aside and turns to face him.

"What do you want?"

"Could I not simply be passing by?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because we both know that isn't true."

"You still don't trust me, Emrys?"

"What reason do I have to trust you?"

"I am the only one of your kind in Camelot. We are one and the same. Why should you not trust me?"

Every snub, every cool retort he must make leaves a scar in his heart. "You wouldn't understand."

"I am not a child Emrys."

"Don't call me that."

"It is your name."

"My _name_ is Merlin. Emrys is the name of the saviour magic which you all seem to think I am. You all seem to think I'm some sort of god that's going to save you all."

Merlin stands, making to leave, but Mordred blocks his path.

"I know that you are not a god. But you are extraordinary - Merlin, why can you not see how you have changed this world for the better?"

"I'm not that powerful."

"Yes you are."

"I'm not Mordred!"

Merlin's words ring in the silence that follows.

When Mordred does again speak, his voice wavers. "What wrong have I done you? I try to get closer to you, to prove my loyalty but everything I do you think the worst."

Those small fragments of word break Merlin's resolve.

"What do you want from me? Merlin, what do I have to do -"

Merlin cuts off his words with a kiss and as he does the universe stops breathing, as he desperately tries to convey every ounce of love and sorrow and pleading and desperation in one fleeting touch.

It's over almost as soon as it begins and Merlin quickly pulls away, expecting a rebuke of fury.

But there is no anger in Mordred's eyes. Instead, they are brimming with joy.

He steps in, closer to Merlin than humanly possible and kisses him again.

The world holds it's breath. Around them, the sky and the sea and the ground peel away, leaving them lost in a haze of stars. Nothing is everything and everything is nothing and everything is Mordred, his lips on Merlin's own, his body warm and close, sensations that are both wondrous and terrifying.

They kiss and Merlin's hands are tangling in Mordred's hair, touching his smooth, pale skin, revelling in the touch he's been aching for for so, so long.

They kiss and he can feel Mordred's eyelashes fluttering against his skin and his mouth is wet and hot and his body is solid and real.

They kiss and Mordred is kissing his neck now, wickedly perfect and Merlin is gasping, drawing ragged breaths as shivers creep down his spine.

Finally, finally they stop, shuddering and warm and flushed, clinging to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

Scalding, salty tears fall down Merlin's cheeks and he buries his face in Mordred's shoulder. He feels soothing touches, soft murmurs drifting through the air which is thick with something unfamiliar and alien.

Mordred coaxes him out of the respite of his shoulder, tenderly kissing away the tears. "It's OK Merlin," he whispers. "It's OK."

Merlin takes his face in his hands. "You don't have to do anything," his voice is still choked with sobs. His throat is sore. "It's not you. God Mordred, it was never you. It was me. It was my fault. It was all me and my stupid bloody paranoia. You _don't have to do anything."_

Mordred nods and they hold each other as the world exhales and reality spins around them in a whirlwind of stars. 


End file.
